Always, Angel
by sabor ice
Summary: [CH 8 UP!] An accident at the lodge house results in Dutchy being sent to the House of Refuge. There he meets a boy named Angelus, who teaches him about life and love through strife. Full summary inside. Give some love for Dutchy! Please Review!
1. The Accident and its Consequences

_**Title: Always, Angel**_

_**Author: sabor ice**_

_**Summary: Following an accident involving damage to the Newsies' Lodging House and injury, Dutchy is ordered confinement in the House of Refuge under the ever-watchful eye of the villainous Warden Snyder. While there, Dutchy meets a sickly boy named Angelus, who teaches Dutchy about life and love through strife.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for this story.**_

_**Author's Note: Enjoy. Please R& R!**_

**Chapter One - The Accident and its Consequences**

Dutchy followed behind Snitch and Itey as the three of them hastily made their way back to the lodge house. The sun had set long before, and they knew if they didn't make it back soon, coppers would have a reason to arrest them - for skipping curfew. Every minor of New York had the same curfew: home before dark. Considering most kids worked from dawn 'til dusk, it didn't give anyone much leeway. Closing the front door behind him, Dutchy rested his back against it and released a deep sigh. He removed his hat and wiped his forehead off with the back of his hand. He and the other two had been lucky this time.

"C'mon, Dutchy," Snitch said, motioning to him with his hand. "De odders must be upstairs."

"I'm comin'," the older newsie answered.

As he moved away from the door, Dutchy playfully wrapped his arm around Itey's neck. The younger boy was shorter then him, though not by much. The blonde-haired newsie laughed as he watched the other boy fight to get from his grasp. He released the dark, curly-haired boy, before using his forefinger to adjust his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He tucked his hat under his arm as he followed Itey and Snitch up the stairs to the sleeping quarters. Upon entering, the room was bursting with livelihood. Snitch and Itey left Dutchy's side to go meet with their other friends. The blonde boy took his hat and hung it over the post of a bunk bed near the door. Suddenly, he was met by Specs, who had come over to greet him rather enthusiastically.

"Hey, Dutchy," Specs said, patting his friend's shoulder.

"Hey, Specs," Dutchy answered, then gestured towards the boys who had begun to drag stools and a crate or two over to the middle of the room. "What's dis?"

"Poker," Racetrack chimed in as he walked past them to go find a seat.

"Yous know, we shouldn't tonight. Poker night's on Mondays. 'Sides, yous know Kloppman doesn't like us smokin' in here!" Dutchy noted, then watched as Specs went to join the others.

"C'mon, stop complainin'! He ain't neva gonna know 'bout it," a tall, moderately muscular newsie named Skittery replied.

"But - " Dutchy began.

"Let's get crackin'! C'mon!" another newsie complained anxiously.

Specs adjusted his bowler-styled black hat before glancing back at the blonde newsie.

"You in or not, Dutch?" he wondered.

Dutchy had always tried to follow the rules of the lodge house. Kloppman was a very nice man, and he respected him very much. But, Dutchy decided this once wouldn't hurt anything. He blew out a sigh as he removed his coat and vest and tossed them on the bed he had intended to use later. He pulled up a stool and waited to be dealt into the game. Kid Blink and several others took out the cigarettes and cigars that they had stolen earlier that day. A small round of applaud erupted when Jack Kelly pulled out a bottle of beer he had swiped. Snipeshooter eagerly reached out for it, but was instantly denied because he was younger than the rest and the supply was limited. He started to complain, but was made happy when offered a cigarette instead.

"Boy, am I's gonna enjoy dis," Racetrack said, recieving the bottle after Jack and taking a swig. "Ah. Now, dat's good stuff. You did good, Jacky-boy."

"Well, good thing, too. Who else was gonna get da beer? Yer all so yella all da time," Jack mused.

"Hey, pass it to Dutchy," Mush chimed in.

The blonde newsie put up a hand.

"No, dat's ok," Dutchy replied.

A few protests were heard in reply. Specs took the quarter-empty bottle of beer and took a drink. He slung his free arm over Dutchy's shoulders and then offered him the bottle.

"C'mon. Have a drink. Have a cig. One won't kill ya," Specs said.

Dutchy sighed as he took the bottle as well as a cigarette when Mush offered it to him. He normally didn't drink or smoke. They were both nasty habits. He was one of the only boys who tried never to do either, and of course, he was often criticized for it. He quickly took a swig of beer, a look of digust on his face proceeding his action. Then, he took a hit off the cigarette, his face mimicking the same action as before. Before he could hand off both items, footsteps were heard outside the room. The familiar voice of Kloppman talking to himself could be heard.

"Hey, cheese it, guys!" Racetrack exclaimed.

Dutchy just sat where he was as everyone else around him hurried to clean up. As the others rished to find a bed to jump into, Specs looked over and noticed Dutchy was still holding the bottle of beer and the cigarette. His eyes widened as he heard the door to the room begin to open.

"Dutchy!" Specs whispered loudly. "The stuff!"

The blonde newsie only then noticed the objects in his hands. He immediately ran over to his bed. He dropped the cigarette on the floor and set down the beer. The bottle swirled in place from side-to-side, but Dutchy didn't have enough time to fix it if it fell. He climbed onto the top bunk of the bed and pulled the blankets up over his clothes, before squeezing his eyes shut tight. The door creaked open and in walked Kloppman. He rested his wrinkly, old hands on his frail hips as he glanced around the room. All of the boys appeared to be in a restful state, and a pleased smile adorned the old man's face. After turning out the light, Kloppman left the room and closed the door behind him. A few boys exchanged words briefly, but otherwise, all stayed silent.

"Guess dat was close, huh?" Specs asked quietly from bunk below Dutchy's.

Dutchy turned onto his back and rested his hands under his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Guess so," he answered. "And, guess everyone's decided to cool it for da night, too."

"Yeah," Specs said, with a yawn, before turning onto his side to go to sleep.

Dutchy closed his blue eyes and soon was fast asleep as well...

Dutchy was deep inside a dream. It seemed so real, though. It was almost as if he could smell the smoke in the air as he walked along. He coughed aloud a couple of times, bringing his fist up to his mouth and nose as he did so. Suddenly, his blue eyes shot open at the sound of someone screaming. A blaze of orange ran down the strip of floor between two of the bunks. By then, everyone else had awakened, too. They all began screaming as they saw the fire, and scurried to get out of their beds. The door to the room burst open as a half-asleep Kloppman came rushing in. He turned on the lights as immediately saw the small fire that was continuing to grow by the second.

"Fire! Everybody out!" Kloppman shouted.

Dutchy watched as Spec's figure flung himself out of the bunk below. He had been the one screaming the loudest, as his arm was on fire!

"Oh, my!" Kloppman said, grabbing a blanket off a bed and quickly wrapping it around the boy's arm to put out the fire.

"Dutchy!" shouted Kid Blink.

Snapping to attention, the blonde-haired boy realized he, too, was now in danger of getting burned by the flames. He jumped off the bed, his backside very nearly getting singed as he did so. Blink had grabbed onto him so he hadn't lost his balance and fallen backwards. Dutchy glanced around to locate Specs; the dark-haired boy continued to scream in agony as a couple of newsies helped in out of the room. Kloppman and a few others had stayed and were gathering water and blankets to put out the fire. Without a moment to lose, Dutchy grabbed the ends of the blanket Blink had, and the two of them dropped it over the flames. Then, they began vigorously stomping out the fire. Skittery and Mush came back from the washroom with a large bucket of water and dumped it over the two bunks which had caught on fire. Kloppman, Jack, and Racetrack continued to put out the rest of the flames with wet blankets until finally the fire was out. Dutchy placed his hand against his chest as he fought to catch his breath. He coughed as he looked around to make sure the others were ok.

"Everybody all right?" Kloppman asked, in between coughs.

The others were a bit dis-oriented as they were in shock of what had just occured. As they all began to leave the room, Dutchy noticed something on the floor beside one of the scorched beds: a broken bottle and a wet cigarette on top of a burnt up shirt. He felt Kloppman's hand on his shoulder and looked over at the man. The two of them left the lodge house to join the others outside.

Hours later, the group of shaken up newsies and Kloppman found themselves at police headquarters answering questions. Judge E. A. Monahan, who had just been leaving for the night, noticed the wild group of shouting and disgruntled teenagers, and decided to audit. The judge pensively observed the boys. Most of them were filthy and covered in what appeared to be black. (Monahan's eyesight was failing, and color was hard to detect at times).

"Now then, one at a time, someone tell me exactly what happened," the middle-aged officer behind the front counter said.

Everyone began talking all at once, trying to give his own side of the story. The officer couldn't make heads nor tails of what they were saying. Monahan noticed one of the boys, a blonde one, wasn't doing anything but standing quietly in the back. The man's dark moustache twitched slightly as he observed him.

"You, boy!" the judge said loudly enough to get everyone's attention.

Dutchy looked over to see who the man had been speaking to. He gulped hard when he realized it had been him.

"You look like the guilty party. You tell us what happened," Monahan said, in his mildly commanding voice.

Dutchy gulped again. He glanced over at the others, who were all attentively listening. The blonde boy looked back at the judge.

"I..." he began.

"Speak up, boy! I haven't got all night!" Monahan exclaimed.

"It...it was my fault..." Dutchy finally said, as his gaze lowered to the floor.

"Sir," came the voice of the middle-aged officer.

He approached the two and handed a small bag to the judge.

"This was found at the scene. Apparently it's what caused the fire," the officer said.

Reaching into the bag, the judge pulled out a piece of broken bottle. He brought it to his nose to sniff it, immediately recognizing the scent of beer on it. Also in the bag was the cigarette and some burnt cards. Dutchy felt so small in those moments as the gazes and suspicious murmurs of the newsies weighed down on him. He could barely bring himself to look back up at the judge.

"Gambling? Smoking? Drinking?" Monahan said, before dropping each item back in the evidence bag and handing it back to the officer. "You stupid boy."

The gray-haired judged motioned for two of the officers to come forth.

"Place this boy under arrest for destruction of property and underage infidelities," Monahan ordered.

One of the coppers stepped forward.

"Sir? Apparently there was an injury as well. One of the boys has been taken to the parish where a physician is tending to him, courtesy of the church," the black-haired man explained.

Monahan's dark, beady eyes practically bulged from his head as he turned his attention back to the young man in front of him.

"Have you anything to say for yourself, young man?" he asked.

"Please...my friend...is he going to be ok?" Dutchy managed to ask, his eyes pleading with the other men for an answer.

Monahan scoffed, then motioned for the two officers to take the boy away. None of the other newsies could do anything except watch, stunned. No one knew what to think right now, least of all Dutchy, as he was taken into custody.

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So, what do you think so far? Please read and review! Thanks.


	2. Welcome to Hell

_**Title: Always, Angel**_

_**Author: sabor ice**_

_**Summary: Following an accident involving damage to the Newsies' Lodging House, Dutchy is ordered three weeks of confinement in the House of Refuge under the ever-watchful eye of the villainous Warden Snyder. While there, Dutchy meets a sickly boy named Angelus, who teaches Dutchy about life and love through strife.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for this story.**_

_**Author's Note: Enjoy. Please R& R!**_

**Chapter Two - Welcome to Hell**

Dutchy hadn't slept all night. His cell had been cold and lonely. This had only been the second time in his life he had been in jail. The first time had been some months back when the newsies had been at one of Medda's shows at Irving Hall. Some of them had spent the night in jail after being caught and arrested when coppers decided they had become too rowdy. Even then, though, Dutchy hadn't been alone. He wasn't afraid of isolation, per se, but it wasn't exactly something he enjoyed either. His thoughts flooded with the events that past evening, even as he was being brought to the judge for sentencing.

As Dutchy was escorted into the court room by two officers, who held onto his arms as if they were afraid he'd try to escape, he didn't bother to raise his gaze to meet that of the others in the room. He knew the other newsies were there, stuck behind the steel divider that seperated the prisoners' walk from the rest of the court.

"Dutchy. Hey, Dutchy," whispered Jack Kelly. "Don't worry. We'll get yous outta dis."

The blonde-haired newsie just shook his head to himself and turned away as he was brought to stand before Judge E. A. Monahan himself. Dutchy lifted his head and squinted to look up at the man. The officer on his right nudged the young man, before handing him the spectacles that had been revoked from his possession the previous day. The newsie hadn't understood the lucidness of their demeanor. Perhaps they had thought he would attempt to escape. Therefore, rendering Dutchy mostly blind prevented any such notion from even entering the boy's mind. Not that he had even considered escaping anyway. He felt guilty. He _was_ guilty.

"I assume you're not represented by a counsel," Monahan noted, as he looked crossly at Dutchy from where he sat behind the judge's stand.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't even know what one is," Dutchy replied in all honesty.

"I wouldn't except you to, now would I? You're not the first street rat to be brought into this courtroom, and you certainly won't be the last," the judge answered, coldly. "Now then, things will move along considerably now that we've established your lone position in this court."

"Hey, your Honor, I's object!" came the voice of Jack from the back of the room.

Monahan's head snapped up, and his piercing, dark eyes locked onto the young man.

"Well, you won't forgive me if I say you're overruled, I'm afraid, Mr. Kelly," Monahan said, dryly.

Jack placed his thumbs in the creases of his jacket and smirked.

"Oh, so yous remember me," the dark-haired boy replied. "I'm flattered, _your Honor._"

The other newsies around him chuckled, and Racetrack pat his shoulder as if congratulating him. Monahan's jaw visibly tensed. He picked up his gavel and banged it down loudly.

"One more outburst from you, and I'll hold you in contempt!" the gray-haired man exclaimed.

"Your Honor, I hold myself in contempt!" Jack mocked in reply.

The other boys around him jeered at his response.

"Bailiff!" cried Monahan, but by then, Jack and the others had begun to slip through the crowd of onlookers.

Monahan dismissed the bailiff and grumbled incoherently. Dutchy shook his head to himself, before locking gazes with the judge again.

"As for you...what's your name again, boy?" the judge wondered.

"Danielsen. Isaac Danielsen, your Honor," came a chillingly familiar voice.

Dutchy glanced over to see the one and only James Snyder - Warden Snyder to all who knew him. The boy gulped as he watched the warden approach the bench. The man's lips curled into a wicked smile as he verily looked over at the newsie.

"His real name is Isaac Danielsen, Edward," Snyder sneered.

That was right - Snyder and Monahan knew each other; they were friends, one might say. This was terrible; it could only end badly. Dutchy shook nervously, but desperately tried not to let it show. The warden rested a hand on Dutchy's shoulder. The boy glanced down at it, and looked up at the judge with an expression that could bore into a man's soul.

"He's just a poor, mis-guided boy," Snyder continued. "Allow me to take him back to the House of Refuge with me. There, I will be sure he is well-taken care of."

The judge looked from Dutchy and back to Snyder. He finally raised and dropped down his gavel again.

"Agreed. Confinement in the House of Refuge until his debt is paid off," Monahan ordered. "Next case."

Dutchy felt a tightening in his chest. That was it. His sentence was given. He looked up at Warden Snyder, watching as a devlish smirk played across the middle-aged man's lips. The hand on Dutchy's shoulder gripped more tightly, and again the boy gulped...

The ride to the Refuge was long and dreary. Dutchy couldn't believe this happening to him of all people. It was true that he could have ratted out his friends, but he hadn't. He wasn't that kind of person. Besides, it had been his fault that he didn't put out the cigarette properly. And, now he was paying the price he deserved. The warden pulled his shackled arms along as the two ascended the stairs of the dark, anguished-looking building. Dutchy glanced over his shoulder and looked around for a moment. Something deep inside told him this was the last time he'd see freedom for a long time.

Upon entering the building, Snyder handed the end of the chain of the shackles off to another. The man was short and stout. He had faded black hair with a bald spot on his forehead. His dark eyes were almost black as he looked over the boy. Snyder handed off his bowler-style hat, coat, and cane to a red-headed maid, before whispering something into the second man's ear. Dutchy strained to hear what he was saying, but failed miserably. Snyder left in the direction of his office, and Dutchy looked back at the stout man.

"What's happening?" the newsie asked.

"Shut up!" the over-sized man exclaimed, pulling the chain of the shackles so harshly that Dutchy actually winced at the pain that had been inflicted upon his wrists.

The two moved deeper into the building. Dutchy kept lagging behind as his blue eyes tried to inspect ever corner of the house. As a result, he was practically dragged forward by his shackles every time. His wrists were beginning to turn red and raw from the cold iron rubbing against them. Finally, the dark-haired man stopped once they climbed some stairs, causing the blonde-haired newsie to practically run into his backside. The man whipped around and growled slightly, making Dutchy freeze where he stood. Reaching into his pocket, the man retrieved a key and removed the shackles. Dutchy idly caressed the skin of his wrists, but subtly, so not to be noticed.

"The name's Watson. Mr. Watson to you. You may also address me as 'sir' and nothing else. I am the head of the staff here, as well as the disciplinary officer," the stout man explained as Dutchy listened attentively. "Breakfast is at five. Dinner is at eight. Chores will be assigned to you."

Watson moved over near a wall and slammed his hand on it. The blonde newsie noticed the piece of paper there.

"These are the rules of the house. Read them. Know them. Live them," Watson continued. "The washroom is down the hall. The sleeping quarters are in the next room. If there are no empty beds...well then, I suppose you'll be bunking on the floor, now won't you? Any questions? No? Good. Dismissed!"

Dutchy didn't move, causing the man to whip him over the arm once with the shackles he had just removed. The newsie gripped his arm with his free hand and lurched forward in pain.

"That will teach you to obey me next time I tell you to go!" Watson exclaimed, small drops of spit leaving his rotten mouth as he did so.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry! I didn't know what you meant!" Dutchy cried.

"You didn't know what I meant, what?!" Watson said, raising the shackles again.

"Sir! I didn't know what you meant sir! I know now. I'll remember!" the newsie added.

Watson snorted as he lowered his arm and straightened out his black jacket.

"Good. Now. You've missed breakfast, but I'm sure you're not hungry anyway. Dinner's tonight. There will be a list of chores for you within the next hour," Watson replied, before finally departing.

Dutchy pushed his fingers back through his blond hair as he slowly sank to the floor by the wall. He brought his knees up to his chest and quietly sobbed. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped up to see a young boy standing there. He couldn't have been more than ten.

"Ye just get in?" the boy asked, in a thick Irish accent.

The blonde boy wiped his nose with the back of his hand and nodded.

"Welcome to Hell," the Irish boy replied, before walking back into the other room.

Dutchy blew out a deep sigh and consoled himself. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. It looked like a figure...a boy watching him from afar. But, when the newsie looked, the figure had disappeared around the corner again. Thinking it had just been his imagination, Dutchy shook it off and made his way to the room he had seen the younger boy go into.

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Special thanks to those who reviewed Chapter 1.

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Thanks!


	3. Initiation

_**Title: Always, Angel**_

_**Author: sabor ice**_

_**Summary: Following an accident involving damage to the Newsies' Lodging House, Dutchy is ordered three weeks of confinement in the House of Refuge under the ever-watchful eye of the villainous Warden Snyder. While there, Dutchy meets a sickly boy named Angelus, who teaches Dutchy about life and love through strife.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for this story.**_

_**Author's Note: Enjoy. Please R& R!**_

**Chapter Three - Initiation**

Walking into the room, Dutchy took a glance around. In some ways, it reminded him of the sleeping quarters back at the lodge. The bunks were in rows the same way. But, there were obviously not as many. That didn't register correctly in the newsie's mind. Why would a place like this have less beds than the lodge house? There were certainly more occupants. To top it off, half of the beds didn't even have bedding as far as the blonde boy could tell. These sleeping quarters were much worse off then the one at the lodge - at home.

He ignored the queer looks he received from the whispering boys across the room. He knew they were observing him and talking about him. There was nothing Dutchy could do about that. He would just act as casual as possible. The last thing the young man needed was to act like he was the enemy. He wasn't looking for a fight, nor was he looking for special treatment. He just wanted to be left alone.

Dutchy stopped in front of the first bed he passed. It wasn't occupied, so he went to sit down on it. There were a couple of boys in the area, mostly over on the other bunks. One jumped down from the top cot and looked at him with cold eyes.

"Bed's taken," the boy said. "Beds are all taken."

The blonde newsie put up his hands in defense as he slowly moved away. Walking down the left side of the second row of beds instead, Dutchy found one near the middle that seemed to be open. In fact, it seemed to be the only bed open anywhere. He used his arms to pull himself up onto the top bunk. Even though the cot was thin and the blanket upon it was ragged, the newsie was glad it had bedding at all. He wrapped his arms around himself as he lay on his side, facing away from where the other boys were in the room. Suddenly, Dutchy felt something wet where he lay. Furrowing his brows, the newsie sat up. He peeled back the brown blanket and placed the palm of his hand there, before bringing it up to his face. A groan of digust immediately left the boy's lips as he recognized the smell. Urine. A cackle of laughter filled the room. Dutchy looked over his shoulder to see a group of boys heading towards him.

"Sorry, guess Pete here forgots to mention anythin' concernin' dis bed here when he wouldn't let ya have anudder," the boy with the thick Irish accent said, nodding to his companion - a black-haired boy who had a rather distracting birthmark on his face. "Bed-wetter back der has a problem, as yous all ready found out."

The other boys chuckled again. Dutchy gritted his teeth as he jumped down off the cot. He turned around as removed his suspenders, before working on unbuttoning his now dirty shirt. He didn't have another at the moment, but there was no way in hell he was going to wear a shirt soaked with someone else's urine. He felt the other boys closer behind him now, but he tried not to let it bother him. He was sure they were just trying to intimidate him. A hand hit his shoulder, causing him to jerk around to face the few boys.

"What's dis? Yer givin' us da silent treatment?" the small, Irish boy wondered.

"I's wasn't aware we wasn't good 'nuff to talk to," the boy called Pete added, with a sneer.

"I wasn't aware I was being talked to. I thought I was dis gettin' intimidated by yous instead," Dutchy finally said.

The Irish boy and Pete exchanged unamused glances.

"He's gotta mouth, now don't he?" Pete noted.

"Yeah," the other boy replied, then pushed the blonde newsie. "How's about I test dese fists of mine out on dat mouth of yers?"

"Get 'im, McNaughton," the black-haired boy urged the Irish boy on.

Dutchy couldn't believe this boy actually wanted to fight him - and for no good reason at all! This boy was less than half his size; Dutchy didn't want to have a brawl with him. Yet, his body language told the older boy he was in high defense stance; he was the one looking for a fight. Worst of all, the odds were obviously unfair. Dutchy was alone and out-numbered.

"Look, _McNaughton_, I don't want to fight," Dutchy said.

"Well, dat's too bad, ain't it?" McNaughton wondered, mashing one fist into the palm of his other hand. "Time for a little initiation."

Out of panic at the feeling of being boxed in, Dutchy stupidly shoved the younger boy out of the way. He jumped over another bed and headed for the door just as he was caught from behind. Unable to move as two of the boys held him back, the blonde newsie felt the first blows to the stomach and side as McNaughton punched him. Dutchy naturally heaved forward, giving another boy the perfect opportunity to kick him in the face. Suddenly, the sound of a bell rang throughout the room.

"Uh-oh, chore time! Let's go 'fore Watson gets on us in here!" Pete exclaimed, then spit on Dutchy. "You lucked out dis time."

Crying out in agony, Dutchy fell to the floor.

"Get his glasses!" one boy instructed.

One boy took the newsie's spectacles, and another kicked him hard in the stomach to ensure he'd stay down. After a few moments, the room was quiet again, save for the low groans of the blonde young man as he lay on the floor. Dizzily, Dutchy tried to sit up. It was hopeless to try and see without his glasses for everything was fuzzy and shapeless. He placed a hand to his stomach and groaned again in pain as he finally succeeded in sitting up. He heard the floor creak, as if someone had been standing there near the door. But, when Dutchy looked, he once again saw only the shadow of someone disappearing again.

"Hey, yous ok?" came a small voice.

The blonde newsie looked back over his shoulder to see a small boy looking down at him. He squinted his eyes to try to see his face more clearly.

"You're not gonna hit me, are you?" Dutchy asked.

The other boy giggled, then put an arm around Dutchy's neck slightly, moving his face very close to the blonde boy's.

"'Course not. It's me. Short Round," the boy answered. "And, yous Dutchy."

"Short Round?" Dutchy repeated, finally putting the name with a face. "Wait. What are yous doin' here?"

The brown-haired boy sighed as he stood erect again, then placed his small hands in his pockets. He blew some air out of his mouth at an angle to get some loose curls of hair off his forehead.

"I's got busted for stealin' an apple one day. I's couldn't help it; I's was hungry," the young boy admitted. "Anyways, I's gettin' outta here tomorrow. Are yous gonna get out Dutchy? Are yous?"

The blonde newsie shook his head as he forced himself up off the floor. He winced in pain and held a hand to his side where he had last been kicked. He blew out a sharp sigh as he looked down at Short Round.

"Dey didn't do anythin' like dis to yous, did dey?" Dutchy asked.

Short Round shook his head no.

"Most of dose guys is from Dark Beckham's gang over in da Bronx," the young boy said. "Yous know how dey hate Cowboy and everyone in Cowboy's gang. Dey didn't know I knows you."

"How did they know I was part of Cowboy's gang?" Dutchy wondered, with an arched eyebrow.

The boy's dark chocolate eyes began to well with tears, and he pouted his bottom lip. He quickly moved over and wrapped his small arms around Dutchy's waist as far as they could reach.

"I's sorry, Dutchy. I's have a big mouth. Dey told me dey wouldn't start a fight. I's didn't think dey'd really hurt ya," Short Round cried.

Dutchy just stood there staring down at the young boy. He was furious, yes, but he also realized Short Round was just a child. He was naive, and probably truly hadn't thought anything ill of his confession. The blonde newsie knew he just couldn't fault the boy. He wrapped one arm around his shoulder, his hand slightly gripping Short Round's pale orange shirt. Then, he ruffled his hair, before Short Round pulled away again.

"It's ok, kid. I know," Dutchy said, quietly. "Yous betta go on ahead before me. It's betta if those guys still think we don't know each other, at least until tomorrow when yous leave."

Short Round smiled gleefully, then raised his hand to spit in it; he held it out to his fellow newsie. Dutchy smiled faintly before returning the gesture, and they shook hands. He watched as Short Round waved and ran out of sight. Walking back over to where he had dropped his shirt, the newsie picked up the article of clothing from the floor. He furrowed his brows as he examined it as well as he could. This wasn't his shirt. His shirt had been wet with urine. This shirt was blue in color and clean. It hadn't been there before, but it seemingly had been purposely placed there. But, where had it come from? Who had exchanged the shirts, and how hadn't he seen anything?

Something around there was strange. Shaking off the eerie feeling in the pit of his stomach, Dutchy pulled on the new blue shirt. He reset his suspenders over it and ran his fingers back through his hair. He sighed deeply, and after a moment or two of consoling himself, the newsie finally left the room.

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Special thanks to those who reviewed Chapter Two!

Love it? Hate it? R&R and let me know!


	4. Chores and Recreations

_**Title: Always, Angel**_

_**Author: sabor ice**_

_**Summary: Following an accident involving damage to the Newsies' Lodging House, Dutchy is ordered three weeks of confinement in the House of Refuge under the ever-watchful eye of the villainous Warden Snyder. While there, Dutchy meets a sickly boy named Angelus, who teaches Dutchy about life and love through strife.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for this story.**_

_**Author's Note: Enjoy. Please R& R!**_

**Chapter Four - Chores and Recreations**

Dutchy walked down the corridor of the east side of the building. He really hadn't been told anything concerning these 'chores.' He hadn't even understood what they were until he saw a couple of boys cleaning some windows with soapy water. He never had to do such a thing back at the lodge house, nor had the other newsies. It was something new to him. The moment Dutchy stopped to watch them, he felt a large hand on his shoulder, that whipped him around entirely. The blonde newsie didn't need his glasses to be able to identify Warden Snyder. The man had a distinct presence - one that made any kid want to run. Since there was no way Dutchy was going to try to do such a thing, he gulped as he awaited to see what the man was going to say to him.

"What are you doing, boy?" Snyder growled. "Chores are to be strictly tended to, not merely observed."

"I uh...I wasn't sure..." Dutchy began, idly scratching the back of his neck with his hand.

"Speak up, boy! Enough of this stuttering! When I ask you a question, I expect to be answered!" Snyder exclaimed.

The warden's dark eyes lowered, and he brought his hand to the collar of Dutchy's shirt as he examined it. An scoff of utter disbelief escaped the man's chapped lips. Dutchy wondered what he was thinking, for it seemed like the warden recognized the shirt.

"Where'd you get this?" the white-haired man asked in a low voice. "Where?!"

The blonde young man closed his eyes and gritted his teeth every time the warden raised his voice. He opened his blue eyes again.

"Please, sir, I just found it. Me other shirt got dirty," Dutchy replied, with a pleading tone in his voice.

Snyder pulled the young man closer by the collar of the shirt.

"You mean you stole it," he noted.

"No, sir, I didn't," the boy replied, honestly.

The warden chuckled maliciously, before releasing the boy's shirt. He adjusted his black jacket and tie.

"For your sake, I hope you're not lying," Snyder sneered, then stopped as he began to pass Dutchy by. He verily looked back at him. "You. You had glasses, did you not? Where are they?"

Dutchy's eyes looked toward the two boys who had been cleaning the window of what must have been Snyder's office. There was writing on the second window, but without his glasses, Dutchy couldn't read it. But, he could feel the dark glares the other boys were giving him while pretending to keep working. Dutchy knew if he told the truth about his glasses, he'd get soaked again, and if he didn't, he'd probably get soaked anyway. But, the newsie decided not to make the situation worse by turning in his enemies. He turned back to Snyder, who was impatiently tapping his left foot on the floor.

"I lost them," the blonde young man finally answered.

"Typical excuse," Snyder replied, with a scoff. "But, I suppose the only person it hurts is you. Get back to work. I don't know what chores you've been assigned yet, but until Mr. Watson makes his rounds, I want you to clean every wash closet on this floor. it's been weeks since someone has done so, and the smell is atrocious."

Dutchy waited until Warden Snyder was out of sight, before proceeding to track down the first wash closet. He didn't care how bad it was in there; he'd much rather clean a dirty bathroom alone then get ridiculed by the other boys while he tried to do some other task. In a twisted way, Dutchy felt like actually thanking the warden for his job.

It was all ready the late afternoon when Dutchy had finished with the last wash closet. He found a nearby pump and washed up a bit. He didn't wish to smell any worse than he had when he arrived. Upon leaving the area, the blonde newsie noticed something sitting on shelf that hung on the wall near the door. Upon closer inspection, Dutchy realized it was his glasses! He eagerly picked them up and put them back on. They weren't broken or even scratched, and the young man was beyond thankful.

After a moment, he looked around to see who might have given them back to him. There was no one around, just like there had been no one around the other two times. Dutchy walked over to where there was a small, cracked mirror. He rested the palms of his hands on the top of the sink below it and sighed heavily.

"You're not losing your mind, Dutch. Just get ahold of yerself," he coaxed himself, then looked up into the mirror. "There's an explanation for everything, even this. Just stay calm and make it out of here alive."

"Who are yous talkin' to?" came Short Round's familiar voice.

The small boy sauntered over to where the blonde newsie was, while looking around curiously. Dutchy smiled faintly. He crouched down so he was face-to-face with the younger newsie.

"No one. Just meself," Dutchy said. "Say, thanks for my glasses back, kid."

"Glasses? I's didn't give 'em back to ya," the brown-haired boy replied, with a shrug. "But, I's glad someone did, Dutchy. Now, yous can see betta again!"

Dutchy blew out a deep sigh, and rested his hands against his thighs as he stood again. Short Round was by the door again, and he motioned for the other boy.

"C'mon, Dutchy! Since chores are done, wes finally get to go outside!" the boy said, excitedly.

Though Dutchy was shocked at Short Round's statement, he decided not to doubt him. He followed the other boy. Short Round led Dutchy out through the back of the building into the courtyard. All of the other boys were all ready out there, as it seemed. The walls surrounding the area were far too high for any boy to attempt to climb over. There was no adult in sight, but Dutchy had a feeling that they were still being watched from somewhere. The sounds of New York clearly rang out like a bell. But, it was the distinct voices of newsies carrying the banner and selling their papers that Dutchy could easily identify. The blonde newsie didn't notice when Short Round left his side, as he was too busy enjoying the feeling of the rays of sunshine beating down upon him. He absentmindedly smiled as he closed his blue eyes and tilted his head towards the heavens. Fresh air had never felt so good to him before.

"Hey der, Dutchy," came a voice.

The blonde newsie opened his eyes and fixed them on McNaughton and the others that were standing around him now. He didn't make any sudden movements, so to give the other boys a reason to jump him.

"So, how'd you get dem glasses back, huh? I's know none of us gave 'em back to ya. But, see Clover over der?" McNaughton wondered, gesturing to a red-haired boy of about thirteen. He had the biggest black eye Dutchy had ever seen. "He says someone tried to soak 'em while he was doin his chores, and stole da glasses from him."

Dutchy looked from Clover back to McNaughton. Deep down, the blonde newsie knew this was going to be nothing less than revenge soaking. Maybe he could try to negotiate with them. He knew it was a long shot, but the young man was going to try anything not to get beat up again.

"I swear to yous dat it wasn't me. I found me glasses sittin' on a shelf in one of the bathrooms," Dutchy said. "I don't got any beef wit anyone of yous guys. So, come on, let's say we just cheese it, huh?"

McNaughton and the others laughed.

"Just cheese it?" the Irish boy repeated, then shoved Dutchy. "I'll cheese it all right - right afta we makes it so you can neva walk outta here again. Get 'em!"

Dutchy tried to force his way through the few boys that had come up behind him. They pushed him back into the arms of the group on the opposite side. The boys yelled and jeered as loudly as they could to drown out the sound of Dutchy's cries as they began to beat him. Instinctually, the blonde newsie cowered on the ground in the fetal position, using his arms to cover his head. He couldn't breathe nor think - at least not about anything except the pain. He felt himself being picked up and moved to another area of the courtyard. Though he heard the faint sound of a whistle blowing in the background, Dutchy didn't remember anything else as his world went black.

--------------------------------

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	5. Angel

_**Title: Always, Angel**_

_**Author: sabor ice**_

_**Summary: Following an accident involving damage to the Newsies' Lodging House, Dutchy is ordered three weeks of confinement in the House of Refuge under the ever-watchful eye of the villainous Warden Snyder. While there, Dutchy meets a sickly boy named Angelus, who teaches Dutchy about life and love through strife.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for this story.**_

_**Author's Note: Enjoy. Please R& R!**_

**Chapter Five: Angel**

A series of low groans and moans escaped Dutchy's lips as he came back to consciousness. His world was literally spinning as he opened his blue eyes and tried to fix them on his surroundings. He faintly heard movement, and when he saw a fuzzy figure in front of him, his mind instinctively told his body to try to move away and quickly. This caused him to merely hit the corner between two walls instead, causing another low groan of pain to slip from his lips. From what he could tell, he was on a bed. Aside from that, the blonde young man had no idea what was going on.

"Where...wha..." the newsie managed to slur out while trying to shake off the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Don't try to get up," a calm, non-threatening voice said.

Dutchy turned his head towards the stranger, who sat on the bed across from him. He tried to focus his eyes on the figure, but between being disoriented and partially blind without his glasses, it proved to be a most difficult task. The newsie leaned back into the crease of the walls, half-way sitting and half-way laying on the bed. He cringed and cried out quietly at the throbbing in his head and back and chest.

"What happened?" Dutchy finally managed to ask.

"Yous don't remember?" the stranger wondered from where he still sat.

"I...I remember...what I remember..." the blonde-haired newsie uttered, absentmindedly roughly digging the nails of his hand into the side of his own head.

The stranger moved from the bed and gently lay a hand on Dutchy's shoulder, causing his mind to once more send signals to his body to jump back.

"Take it easy," the stranger said. "No one's here to hurt yous. Yous been here since earlier today. I's came in once dey dropped you onto dis here bed. It's late now. Supper time in fact."

Dutchy ran a hand over his face and sighed deeply as he melted back down onto the bed more. Finally, he tilted his head to the side again to look up at the stranger beside him.

"Who are you?" he inquired.

"It's not important. What's important is dat yous stay alive while you're here. Them other boys got disciplined for what they did to yous in the courtyard, and I's tellin' yous now der the kind to get revenge," the stranger answered. "Yous gotta watch yer back if yous wanna survive."

"Why do you care what happens to me anyways?" the blonde young man wondered, the sound of disbelief evident in his voice.

"I's guess yous could call it human nature," came the reply. "Here."

Dutchy felt the stranger place something in his open hand. By its texture, the newsie could tell it was a hot roll. Momentarily forgetting about his pain, Dutchy forced himself into a sitting position and greedily scarfed down the only food he had had since the day before. He heard the person beside him chuckle lightly. Although Dutchy couldn't see his face clearly, the newsie knew he was a young man, possibly around his age.

"Slow down. If I woulda known yous woulda been so hungry, I's woulda swiped an extra roll for yous," the young man added.

Dutchy blew out a heavy sigh, as he tried to relax his back against the wall behind him without causing too much discomfort for himself. The stranger watched the blond boy for a few moments, as a brief silence fell between them.

"Yous never been to a place like dis before, have yous?" the young man wondered.

A soft scoff escaped Dutchy's lips, and he shook his head slightly.

"So, what'dya do to get into a stink hole like dis?" the stranger questioned, a curious tone in his somewhat deep voice.

Dutchy sighed again, turning his head towards the wall. He had been re-living those moments at the lodging house over and over again. He felt so guilty for what happened; he especially couldn't forget about the fact that one of his best friends had been hurt because of his actions. Why had he joined that stupid poker game? Why had he agreed to take a sip of beer and a hit off that cigarette? Why hadn't he just said no? Those questions continued to plague him.

"Der was an accident over where I live," Dutchy began. "It was stupid really. Everything happened so fast."

He sighed deeply, before continuing.

"Me and some of the other guys was goofing around, playing a hand of poker. I usually don't play, since I'm usually the one who loses anyways. The guys started smokin' and drinkin' then, which is against the rules. I decided to give in and do the same," the newsie explained, then turned his head to face the stranger again, but kept his blue gaze lowered. "To make a long story short, a shirt beneath my bunk caught fire from a cigarette I forgot to put out. My friend...he got burned. I dunno if he's even ok."

The stranger furrowed his dark brows and rested his elbows on his crossed legs on the bed. "Yous right then. It was just an accident. 'Sides, yous wasn't the only one at fault for what happened. Yous know dat, don't yous?"

Dutchy bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

"It was still my fault," the newsie stated. "Look, I don't wanna talk about it anymore, all right?"

The stranger sighed. He placed both feet back on the floor, resting his elbows on his knees for a moment as he scratched the back of his head.

"All right," the stranger answered, before standing.

When Dutchy realized the strange young man had moved off the bed, the newsie quickly reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Wait. Where yous goin'?" the blonde newsie asked, panic rising within him.

He felt the stranger place his hand on Dutchy's and pat it gently.

"I's gotta go. It's almost bed time. When de others come in, just act like yous still out of it; dat's yer best chance, the stranger replied.

Dutchy frantically moved half-way off the bed towards the young man when he felt him pull away again. As of tomorrow, the newsie knew he'd be completely alone once Short Round left. He had no idea who this stranger was. He had no idea why he was here or where he had come from. The only thing Dutchy knew for certain was that this person was his only friend.

"You'll come back, won't yous?" Dutchy asked, quietly.

"When I's can," the stranger answered, as he continued to move away. "I's promise."

The blonde newise tumbled out of the bed and grunted as he climbed to his feet.

"Tell me your name at least," Dutchy said, looking around into the shadows of the darkening room for where the stranger had gone. "Please?"

There was a brief silence, and the newsie was sure whomever had just been there had all ready gone.

"Angelus," came the voice of the stranger. "Angel."

"Angel," Dutchy repeated. "Yous never told me. What're yous in here for?"

Angel lowered his gaze a moment. "For living," he answered, quietly, so quietly, in fact, that the other boy most likely hadn't heard him.

Once Angel was sure he was far enough away from the other boy so not to be seen, he pushed on part of the wall nearest to the back of the room. A small compartment opened, and he disappeared into it. Dutchy could feel that the stranger was now indeed gone. But, where? How? Why? More questions flooded into the young blonde's mind. Suddenly, he heard the voices and footsteps of the other boys coming up the stairs outside the sleeping quarters. Dutchy tripped slightly as he turned around to retreat back into the bed. Once there, he moved close to the fall and faced it. He closed his eyes and acted unconscious or asleep, just as it had been suggested to him. The blonde young man soon forgot about the others in the room. He forgot everything except for the stranger named Angel, as he fell back into a deep slumber.

-------------------------------------------------

Special thanks to those who reviews the last chapter!

Hope you enjoyed Chapter Five. Please Review! Thanks!


	6. Two Offers

_**Title: Always, Angel**_

_**Author: sabor ice**_

_**Summary: Following an accident involving damage to the Newsies' Lodging House, Dutchy is ordered three weeks of confinement in the House of Refuge under the ever-watchful eye of the villainous Warden Snyder. While there, Dutchy meets a sickly boy named Angelus, who teaches Dutchy about life and love through strife.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for this story.**_

_**Author's Note: Enjoy. Please R& R!**_

**Chapter Six - Two Offers**

Dutchy awoke with a start when he felt someone shaking him. He immediately flipped over, his back to the wall, and his hands out in front of him in defense. The room was dark, and adding to the fact that the blonde newsie was somewhat sightless without his glasses, didn't help. Suddenly, he felt two small hands on his arm, and the face of Short Round became slightly clearer to him as Dutchy tried to focus. The boy hushed him.

"It's ok. It's just me," Short Round said.

The older newsie laid back on his pillow with a groan.

"You scared me," Dutchy admitted, brushing his fingers back through his hair. "I's thought someone had come to beat me up again."

"Sorry," the younger boy whispered in reply. "But, c'mon, get up."

"Why? It's night," Dutchy answered.

Before he could get another word out, the dark-haired newsie grabbed ahold of his arm again. Despite his size, Short Round practically pulled Dutchy off the bed with him. The blonde newsie winced at the pain in his ribs and side at the sudden movement. He hissed through his teeth and lifted his head to glower at the other boy. Short Round smiled apologetically. He took his friend by the hand and quiety led him over to a window. The blonde newsie was paranoid since his last beating; his blue eyes shifted suspiciously about the room, and he listened intently to make sure the other boys were still asleep.

"Jack," said Short Round, wearily.

"Jack?" Dutchy questioned, and turned his head back towards the barred-up window.

The blonde newsie immediately saw the extension of rope dangling down from what must have been the roof. It swung to the side and the famous Jack Kelly came into view. He sly smirk played across the leader's lips as he grabbed onto the bars of the window for extra support. Dutchy chuckled quiety in sheer disbelief and he moved closer to him.

"I's can't believe it. What're yous doin' here, Cowboy?" the blonde newsie asked.

"Oh, yous know, just hangin' around," Jack answered, glancing up and gesturing to the rope he was hanging by.

Dutchy extended his neck as far as he could and tilted his head to the side to try to see as far up as possible.

"Who's holding yer weight up der?" he wondered, looking back at the brown-haired young man.

Jack shrugged.

"Nobody dis time. I's came on me own. De end's tied, so don't worry. All's I gotta do is climb back up. No problem," the leader answered.

Jack glanced down at Short Round, who in the meantime had fallen asleep while leaning against the window sil beside Dutchy. The blonde newsie hadn't even noticed until Jack did; Dutchy smiled faintly, and Jack laughed quietly. The leader squeezed one hand through the bars and ruffled the sleeping newsie's hair lightly. Short Round yawned and brought a hand up to rub his eyes, but didn't awaken. A moment of silence passed between them. One question had been eating a hole through Dutchy's mind for the past couple of days. He knew he wouldn't feel anymore at ease unless he asked it and receieved a straight answer in return.

"How's Specs doin'?" Dutchy asked, raising his blue gaze to meet Jack's.

"He's fine," Jack assured him. "He'll have a scar from the burn, but he'll live. All de other guys is fine, too. And, dese tightwads was sent from the city to fix the damage done. Everything's pretty much back to normal now."

Dutchy released a deep sigh; a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Jack watched his friend with a heavy heart. He reached his hand through the bars, and cupped his hand over Dutchy's shoulder supportively.

"What about yous, Dutch, yous survivin' in here?" Jack wondered.

Dutchy scoffed; he wiped his nose with his hand and shook his head to himself.

"Survivin's about de only thing I can do here," the blonde young man replied. "I's guess I's got the pick-of-the-litter with dis bunch dat's in here now. Most of 'em are from Harlem. Yous know how Harlem feels about guys like you and me."

"I know," Jack answered, somewhat quietly. "Do yous know how long yous in here for?"

Dutchy shook his head. "No," he replied. "Probably forever."

"C'mon, knock it off," Jack said. "I's gonna get yous outta here tonight."

The blonde boy scoffed.

"How yous gonna do dat? Want me to squeeze through dese bars here?" Dutchy wondered, running his hands along the length of one of the steel bars.

"Of course not," Jack said, a slightly annoyed look on his handsome face. He sniffled and rubbed his finger over the tip of his slightly curved nose. "Yous walkin' outta here with my help. Out the front door."

Dutchy was about to reply, but then didn't. He had never once in his life not believe Jack when it came to him having a plan. He trusted the other young man with his life; Dutchy knew Jack wasn't the kind of person that would lead anyone he called a friend astray. He knew Jack could get him out. But, how long until he would be captured again for escaping? The blonde newsie knew he couldn't take the risk. Besides, he hadn't forgotten about the strange young man named Angel either. He wanted to tell Jack about his encounter, but then realized that perhaps Angel was in hiding for a reason, and he didn't want everyone to know he was there. So, once again, Dutchy kept his mouth shut. Sighing inwardly, Dutchy bit-the-bullet when it came to his bodily pain, lifted up Short Round and pulled him across his shoulders. He bit his tongue; he was glad it was dark, so Jack couldn't see the tears threatening to emerge from his blood-shot eyes.

"I's can't, Jack. But, do me a favor will ya?" Dutchy wondered, trying to not allow his voice to break. He turned sideways a bit and nodded his head towards the sleeping boy that dangled off his shoulders. "Short Round's gettin' outta here tomorrow. Take care of him; he's little and needs your protection more than anyone right now."

Jack studied Dutchy for a moment, as well as the other newsie in his grasp. He was slightly confused, but decided that if Dutchy was choosing to stay, then he shouldn't try to change his mind. Finally, the leader nodded. He spit into the palm of his hand and held it through the bar. Dutchy balanced the newsie on his shoulders, spit into his own hand, and shook Jack's.

"Carryin' the banner," Jack said.

"Carryin' the banner," Dutchy replied, with a faint smile.

The blonde newsie stood there for a few moments as he watched Jack begin to climb back up the wall of the building. Once his friend was out of sight, Dutchy blew out a deep sigh and cleared his throat. He decided it was best not to dwell for too long; Snyder or one of his minions were bound to come and check-up on the boys soon. After he moved Short Round back to his bed, Dutchy returned to his own. He slowly climbed into the bed, and for a few moments, he tried to find a comfortable position to lay in. Blowing out a deep sigh, the newsie closed his eyes and soon fell back asleep.

------------------------------------

"Get up, boy," came a familiar voice.

Dutchy's eyes shot open. From the amount of the light in the room, Dutchy knew it must have been morning. He cleared his throat and rubbed his fingers over his eyes as he struggled slightly to sit up in bed. He openly groaned in pain. He briefly recalled the previous night. He had no time to think about it, though, as Mr. Watson stood in front of him. His icy glare was fixed on the newsie; his lips curled upward into a sneer of disgust. If looks could kill, Dutchy would surely be dead.

"Do you know what time it is, boy?" Watson growled.

"No, sir," the blonde young man replied.

He briefly looked around, then; his eyes widened slightly, for as far as the newsie could tell, all of the other boys were all ready gone from the sleeping quarters. Dutchy gulped quietly as his gaze locked onto Watson's again. Surely he was in for a disciplinary beating now. He absentmindedly closed his eyes and prepared himself for the worst. A moment passed, and nothing happened. Watson slammed his black disciplining stick on the frame of the bed, somewhat startling Dutchy.

"Get cleaned up, boy. Mr. Snyder wishes to see you in his office," Watson sneered.

Dutchy released a very small and quiet sigh. It wasn't a sigh of relief, though. He hadn't been beaten, but he still had to go see Snyder for some reason. Again, the newsie could only expect the worst. He opened his eyes and briefly watched the chubby man walk away.

"You have five minutes. I suggest you use them wisely," Watson called back to him, before leaving the room.

Dutchy sighed again as he rolled out of bed and stood. He adjusted his shirt and pulled up his suspenders. Something on the nearby night-stand caught his eye. Upon closer inspection of the second shelf, the newsie pulled out his glasses. He blinked a few times in complete awe and put them on. He couldn't believe it. They weren't broken anymore. He briefly glanced around the room, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of a shadow disappearing much like the few times before. Angel had to have been the one aiding him. He hadn't been sure before, but now he was positive. Dutchy hoped to see him again, for he wished to thank his only friend.

The walk to Snyder's office was most intimidating. The blonde newsie had never been more happy in his life to be walking with someone like Watson, and to be on his way to the Warden's office. These two elements were the only things keeping him safe from the other boys who roamed the halls while tending to their chores. When they reached the office, Watson shoved Dutchy to the side as he walked through the door first. The blonde boy winced and put his hand to the sore spot on his chest a moment. Finally, he entered the office as well. Watson had been briefly speaking with Snyder. He grabbed Dutchy by the shoulder and pulled him up closer to the Warden's desk. The young man kept his gaze to the floor.

"That'll be all, Mr. Watson," Snyder said.

Watson nodded curtly. He closed the door behind him after he departed, leaving the newsie alone with the Warden. Snyder took out a hankerchief from his pocket as he sneezed a few times; he wiped his nose with it, before replacing the cloth back into the pocket of his fancy, black coat. The older man cleared his throat and stood from his seat. Dutchy moved to the left, but still faced the Warden as he came around his desk. Slowly, the newsie raised his blue eyes to meet the man's cold gaze.

"The other boys did quite the number on you," Snyder said, in a bitter tone of voice to signify that he couldn't care less.

Dutchy was sure if he was supposed to answer or not, so he stayed quiet. Snyder folded his hands behind his back and began to circle the boy like a hawk. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and blew a heavy sigh out of his nose.

"Which means I must find something to do with you. The mayor wasn't too pleased the last time he heard there was a death here," Snyder explained. "It's not good for my money. It's not good for my job. Unless I want law officals snooping around my Refuge, I must make sure all of my boys stay relatively healthy while they're here."

The Warden stopped in front of Dutchy again. He reached out and held the boy's chin with his thumb and forefinger. Dutchy's brilliant blue eyes stared widely up at the man as he briefly examined his face.

"So, what to do with someone as pathetic as you, hm?" Snyder wondered, dropping his hand to his side again.

An almost thoughtful expression crossed the Warden's tough, hard-featured face. He shifted his light blue gaze about the room a moment, before a sly smirk played across his lips.

"I know," the white-haired man added, looking at the newsie again with a stern expression. "I do need a new personal cleaning boy. You'll come here to my office every other day to clean. You will not spend your time lounging or snooping. If I find out you have been, I will revoke this _privilige_ and have you punished for it. When you're not doing your job, you will be locked in a single room. Food and drink will be brought for you by another of my choosing at meal times. I won't have to worry about any more incidents between the other boys and you. Do you understand, and have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Dutchy managed to reply.

"Good," Snyder replied, bluntly. "You keep on being obedient, and you _might_ be out of here my the end of the month."

"I'm going out for the rest of the day. The cleaning supplies are in the closet over there. I will lock the door to my office and leave the spare key with Mr. Watson. When you're finished, he'll escort you to your new room," Snyder added, gathering his other coat and black top hat from the coat rack near the door.

Without another word, the Warden exited the office. Dutchy heard the jingling of keys and then the lock turning on the door. Snyder gave him a look of warning through the glass window, before leaving. Once he was truly alone, Dutchy rested his backside against the large desk there and released a sigh of relief. He fanned himself with his hand for a moment so he wouldn't faint. After a moment, the newsie had re-gained his compsure. He went over to the small supply closet to begin his work.

-------------------------------------------------

Special thanks to those who reviews the last chapter!

Hope you enjoyed Chapter Six. Please Review! Thanks!


	7. The Secret Passages

_**Title: Always, Angel**_

_**Author: sabor ice**_

_**Summary: Following an accident involving damage to the Newsies' Lodging House, Dutchy is ordered confinement in the House of Refuge under the ever-watchful eye of the villainous Warden Snyder. While there, Dutchy meets a sickly boy named Angelus, who teaches Dutchy about life and love through strife.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for this story.**_

_**Author's Note: Enjoy. Please R& R!**_

**Chapter Seven: The Secret Passages**

Dutchy obediently trailed behind Mr. Watson as the over-weight man led him from Warden Snyder's office. The blonde newsie kept his eyes to the floor, taking each next step as quickly as the last. Despite Watson's size, the man was not slow. For a second, something caught Dutchy's eye; he glanced down the hallway. It was the same one he had walked down when he had first arrived. It led to the front door and freedom. How easily the young man could've ran past Watson and sprinted for the front door. He was not the fastest runner, but he certainly had had plenty of experience in the art of escaping.

Before he could give it another thought, though, Watson abruptly haulted, causing Dutchy to run into his backside. Watson growled as he whipped around to face the boy. His large, pudgy hand grasped the newsie's shoulder tightly, so tightly in fact that Dutchy actually winced. His dark, beady eyes bore into Dutchy's blue ones as he studied him. The blonde could just tell that the man knew what he had been thinking. Dutchy was terrible at lying. His eyes always told the truth, no matter what his mouth said.

"What's your problem, boy? Can't you walk straight?!" Watson exclaimed, in a low growl.

"I...I..." Dutchy began.

He absentmindedly allowed his gaze to flicker down the hallway. Watson noticed this and immediately understood the boy's intention. The man's grasp tightened on Dutchy's shirt as his hand moved to the back of the collar.

"Don't even think about it, boy," Watson sneered, his face only inches away from the newsie's. "We have ways of dealing with escapees. But, you're smart, aren't you, boy? You wouldn't dare, now would you? Just because we can't have anyone dying while they're here doesn't mean we can't have someone leave without a broken arm or leg. Remember that next time you even think about escaping. Understand?!"

Dutchy had stayed quite calm considering, and this only angered the over-weight employee. The man glanced around to make sure no one was around. Then, he grabbed ahold of Dutchy's left arm, before pulling it around his back and yanking it upwards in a most unnatural manner. Dutchy cried out, but Watson covered his mouth with his hand to stifle his scream. A single tear rolled down Dutchy's cheek, and he closed his eyes while trying to block out the pain.

"I can't hear you, boy. I asked you a question. Do you understand?!" Watson asked, obviously enjoying every moment he tortured the boy.

While Watson kept a hold on Dutchy's twisted arm, he moved his other hand from the young man's mouth and harshly pulled his head to the side by his blonde hair.

"Yes!" the blonde newsie replied, candidly.

"Yes, what?!" Watson questioned.

Dutchy's blue eyes were red with tears; he blew out a sharp, ragged breath as he tried to form the words to say.

"Yes, sir," he finally answered. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir!"

Watson sneered again, his crooked smile was one of deep satisfaction. He reluctantly released the newsie from his grasp. Dutchy fell forward slightly as he was shoved, but caught himself when his right side slammed against the wall. He just stayed there a few moments, utterly terrified to move, speak, or even breathe. The dark-featured man walked past him, before gesturing for him to follow.

"Hurry up, boy. I don't have all night!" Watson said urgently.

Dutchy pushed himself away from the wall; his right arm nursed his throbbing left one as he followed Watson down the corridor and up the stairs. Fear rose in the blonde young man when they came to the sleeping quarters. The other boys were there and getting ready for bed. He thought for sure Watson was going to toss him in there to be beaten and humiliated some more. A sigh of relief left Dutchy's lips when they continued on to yet another staircase. This one was not as wide as the first staircase, and creaked loudly with every step that was taken. It led to the third floor of the Refuge, which was no more than the size of a small attic. The roof hung low, and both Watson and Dutchy heaved forward in order to keep walking down the narrow hallway. At the end of the hallway was a single door. Dutchy heard the man pull out his set of keys and unlock it. Watson moved to the side and forced the newsie to squeeze past him. Once Dutchy was in the room, Watson pulled close the door and locked it again. The over-weight man grunted as he crouched down to open the small slot on the door that seperated the two.

"Hope you're not afraid of the dark or rats, boy," Watson snickered loudly.

The slot slammed shut. Watson's malicious laughter could be heard, though only faintly, as he retraced his steps. After a moment, Dutchy knew he was alone again. Taking a brief look around, the newsie sadly almost wished he was back sleeping on the second floor. There was hardly anything in the small, shabby room. There was no window nor table nor chair. There was a bed, or at least, it had once been a bed. Worst of all, there was no candle for him. The only light he had came from the under the door in the hallway.

He stayed quiet a few moments when he thought he heard something. Suddenly, a small squeak echoed throughout the room. There really were rats! The blonde newsie lept onto the worn-out bed in the corner and consoled himself against a wall. He glanced down at his left arm. He couldn't tell what it looked like. It didn't feel broken, but it hurt worse than any pain he had ever felt before. His shoulder especially seemed to be giving him the most trouble. To try to lift or move his arm caused him great pain, so he didn't try. Everything was quiet again. With nothing but the sound of the beat of his heart to soothe him, the newsie tried to rest, if only for a short while.

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A short, but sharp knock on the door caused Dutchy to awaken with a start. He winced when his left arm pressed against the wall, as he had momentarily forgot about his pain before that. His blue eyes stayed glued to the door as he waited and dreaded that it would swing open and Watson or Snyder would enter. Then, something came to him - why would they knock? Furrowing his brows, the blonde moved off the sad, little bed and crouched down by the door. He pressed his ear to it a moment, before hearing the slot at the bottom open. Cautiously, the newsie bent down and peered through it; his gaze met the dark gaze of another.

"Are you all right?" Angel asked.

Dutchy immediately recognized Angel's voice. Now that he had his glasses back, it was easy for the blonde to see the other young man's face more clearly now - at least the top half.

"Yeah," Dutchy replied, quietly. "I's guess they plan on making me starve, though. I's didn't even get to eat yet today."

"No, they brought you a tray," Angel answered. "But, trust me, you don't want what's on it. I wouldn't feed this stuff to my worst enemy."

The blonde newsie sighed defeatedly as he slumped against the door. He continued to nurse his wounded arm in his lap as he ran his fingers back through his hair.

"I's wish you were in here," Dutchy said.

His eyes looked about the floor around him to make sure there were no rats near him.

"I don't," the other young man replied. "I've seen that room. It's terrible."

Dutchy looked back through the slot and was about to say something, but then noticed Angel was gone.

"You der?" the blonde wondered.

There was no reply. Dutchy was about to give up, figuring the boy had gone again. Then, he heard a strange noise. It sounded like the bed was being moved, but how could it be? Climbing to his feet, the newsie went over to investigate. Sure enough, the old bed had been moved slightly.

"Down here," came the familiar voice of Angel.

Crouching down, Dutchy saw that there was a floor board missing by the wall, but it had been hidden by the bed. Angel held up the small lantern in his hand, so the two could see each other more clearly. This was the first time Dutchy had seen the boy's full face clearly. He was young and couldn't have been much older than Dutchy. His dark hair waved a bit, and the ends curved inwards towards his face. His nose curved slightly at the tip, much like Jack's did. His dark eyes were what accented his entire youthful face, though.

"C'mon, follow me," Angel said. "But, make sure you're quiet. These walls can talk."

Dutchy watched the young man disappear from sight. He birefly examined the small opening. It was a good thing Dutchy was lean, or otherwise he wouldn't have been able to squeeze through. Sitting down in the sort of compartment, he looked ahead to see where Angel had gone. The dark-haired boy stopped and looked back at the newsie.

"Pull the bed back," Angel said.

Dutchy nodded. He reached up through the open floorboard and grasped onto the bottom of the bed. It took some effort, as he was only able to use his right hand, but finally, the bed rested back against the wall. As he briefly observed his new surroundings, Dutchy couldn't believe a place like the Refuge could have such a passage.

"Follow me," Angel called back to him.

Although Angel chose to crawl along the cramped space, Dutchy found that he couldn't. Every time he tried to use his left arm in any way, pain surged through it. Still, he had to get through it somehow. He used the strength in his right arm to pull himself along as his feet pushed. The short passage came to an abrupt end sooner than the newsie could've imagined. He felt Angel grab onto him to help him through the opening, and Dutchy cried out softly.

"You ok?" Angel asked.

"Yeah, it's my left arm. Just my left arm," Dutchy explained.

Angel changed the angle in which he held onto the other boy. Once Dutchy was through the opening, he helped the blonde to stand. He offered Dutchy a small, reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, it's not far now. And, there's no more crawling required from here. Come," Angel said.

Dutchy ran his fingers back through his blonde hair again, before sneezing into his hand from all the dust around them.

"This is incredible," the newsie said, as he began to follow.

"The passages? The Refuge is full of them. Can you believe that?" Angel said, glancing back at him. "Trust me when I say, though, that not all of them are fun to move through."

"There's so many things I wanna ask you," Dutchy admitted.

"I thought you might," Angel said, glancing at him with a wry smile. "And, I'll answer them as best I can. Watch out for the drop here."

Angel jumped down onto a level lower than the one they had just been on. Dutchy planted his right hand on the edge and jumped down, before he followed.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To my place," the dark-haired young man replied. "I can trust you to keep this all a secret, can't I?"

The blonde nodded. Who would he ever tell? He felt like he was in a war, stuck behind enemy lines. Angel was a savior for trusting him enough to be his friend. Soon, the two arrived at an area where many different paths interjunctioned. From as far as Dutchy could tell, there were only three or four in all. The one they had just come from seemed to be the only path that could be walked through.

"Well, this is it," Angel announced, hanging his lantern up on a hook.

Dutchy glanced around. They were in a small area, no bigger than the room Dutchy had just been in. The air was surprisingly breathable. There was a mattress and blankets in the middle of the odd shaped floor. Nearby was a small stool and a piece of a desk that must have been used as a table. There were a few other things like tiny paintings and books lying about.

"Yous live here?" Dutchy wondered.

"Yeah. It's nothing great, I know, but it suits me just fine," Angel replied, as he rolled up his sleeves and walked over to the newsie.

"Where'd yous get all this stuff?" the newsie asked.

"I take stuff. I can get to just about any room by means of these passages," Angel said, then reached out for his left arm.

Dutchy instinctly pulled back, caution in his eyes.

"Don't worry. I was only going to look at your arm. You have to just trust me," the dark-haired boy said, honesty written all over his face. "All right?"

Reluctantly, Dutchy allowed the boy to take his left arm again. Angel gently lifted it, taking notice of the pain it caused the other boy.

"Take off your shirt. I need to look at it more closely," Angel said.

Dutchy sighed, then nodded. He pulled away somewhat as his fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt. Once it was opened, he gently slid it off and allowed it to drop onto the ground behind him. He glanced at his shoulder as Angel began to look closer. There was black and blue around his shoulder, but nowhere really on his arm. Angel ran his fingers over it lightly, and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"It looks dis-located," the dark-haired young man said. "I have to fix this, otherwise you may never be able to properly use your arm again. I won't lie to you, it'll hurt."

Dutchy lifted his blue gaze to meet Angel's. By the light of the lantern, Dutchy was able to see his face clearly. He noticed that the boy's eyes were cobalt blue and not brown as he had first anticipated. They were kind, but for some reason they also seemed familiar in some strange way. The newsie decided this was no time for questions right now. He turned his attention back to his arm a moment, before looking away and closing his eyes.

"Just do it," Dutchy said.

Angel nodded, then positioned himself for this quick procedure. In one quick movement, the arm was jerked back into place. Dutchy cried out loudly, and toppled to the side. He didn't feel Angel hold onto him so he wouldn't fall completely; everything went black as he fainted from the pain.

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	8. Questions, Answers, and More Questions

_**Title: Always, Angel**_

_**Author: sabor ice**_

_**Summary: Following an accident involving damage to the Newsies' Lodging House, Dutchy is ordered confinement in the House of Refuge under the ever-watchful eye of the villainous Warden Snyder. While there, Dutchy meets a sickly boy named Angelus, who teaches Dutchy about life and love through strife.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for this story.**_

_**Author's Note: Enjoy. Please R& R!**_

**Chapter Eight: Questions, Answers, and More Questions**

Darkness surrounded Dutchy, but soon he felt as if he was spinning. He opened his blue eyes and tried to focus them. His lips parted, a quiet burp escaping his lips. Scrunching his eyes tightly together, the blonde young man forced himself to turn over onto his side for a moment as a feeling of possibly becoming sick washed over him. A few moments passed, and then so did the sick feeling. The newsie opened his eyes again; he sighed heavily as his gaze fell on the young man across from him. For a few moments, the blonde tried to recall where he was and how he had gotten there. Angel noted Dutchy's confusion; he leaned forward on his knee, shifting his weight and bringing his other knee to rest against his chest. Angel touched the newsie on the shoulder, his dark blue eyes searching the other's youthful face.

"You ok?" Angel wondered.

"Uh..." Dutchy replied. "Yeah...what happened?"

He sat back and rested his back against the wall behind him.

"You fainted for a few minutes," Angel answered, sitting back and resting most of his weight on his foot under him. "How's your arm?"

Dutchy glanced down at his still exposed arm and torso. With his right hand, he carefully examined the area surrounding his left shoulder. It was still mighty sore, but the newsie realized that that was probably to bed expected. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat as he sat up a bit straighter. His hand moved to pull the blue material of his shirt closed, though for now he neglected to finish buttoning it up.

"Better," Dutchy answered, raising his gaze to meet the dark-haired boy's. "Thanks to you."

Angel smiled.

"No worries," the older boy replied. He rolled over to the side and crawled on his hands and knees to the southern most corner of the area. He glanced over his shoulder at the newsie. "Hungry?"

Before Dutchy could reply, Angel pulled a rather nice sized chunk of dried bread from a small sack and tossed it to him. Dutchy looked from the food and back at his friend.

"Where'd you get this?" the newsie wondered.

Angel lazily shrugged one shoulder as he went to sit against the wall across from Dutchy. He angled his knees upward and rested his elbows on them. He leaned back, resting his head on the hard surface behind him, and he grinned slyly.

"Dat's nothing. You shoulder have seen the sliver of meat I took last week. It was the best cut - only the best for the Warden," Angel replied.

Dutchy couldn't help but smile.

"I bet he was mad," the newsie noted.

Angel laughed.

"Furious," he replied. "Go on and eat. Dere's no one here that'll stop you this time."

Dutchy never thought he'd be so happy to have a chunk of crusty bread. His blue eyes literally lit up at the sight of the delicious morsel sitting in his hands. As he began savoring every bite he took, Dutchy's gaze drifted over to the other boy. Angel had quieted considerably and even averted his gaze, his eyes now staring at the distance. As he watched him every few moments from the corners of his eyes, it occured to Dutchy that it seemed like something was possibly ailing Angel. As he was about to open his mouth to speak, Angel noticed the almost questioning look on the newsie's face, and gave Dutchy a reassuring smile. The blonde half-smiled, and glanced from the rest of the bread in his hand and back at Angel.

"Here, you should eat, too," Dutchy said, holding the bread out.

Angel shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.

"No, I'm not hungry. You go ahead," Angel answered. "You need it more than I do."

Dutchy scoffed lightly at the young man's last comment. He wondered how Angel figured that. Angel was much thinner than Dutchy was. The newsie popped the rest of the bread in his mouth all at once, chewing it ever so slowly, before finally swallowing. He was still hungry, but Dutchy knew better than to complain. Some was better than nothing anyday. A short duration of silence fell over the two. Dutchy inched forward closer to Angel again, and cleared his throat. His questions could no longer wait.

"So..." Dutchy began, glancing down at the dirty beds of his fingernails a moment as he thought about what he wanted to say. "Why are you here?"

He folded his arms around his legs.

"I mean...why do you stay?" Dutchy continued. "Why don't you escape?"

Angel's gaze shifted towards the newsie. He let out a soft sigh and was quiet a few moments. His colbalt blue eyes studied the other young man.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," Angel simply replied.

Dutchy furrowed his brows, and for some reason, his heart went out to the other boy. The tone in Angel's voice was queer. It was different then it had been earlier; it wasn't as smooth nor calm, and Dutchy silently wondered why. He watched as Angel stood from his seat and wandered over to where he had a pile full of junk. He picked up a broken pocket watch and toyed with it.

"So...you just stay here?" the blonde newsie asked, brows still furrowed. It didn't make much sense to him.

"Yeah," Angel replied, still toying with the trinket in his hands as he whirled around to face Dutchy again. "I mean...I got everythin' I's need here in dis place. Why leave it?"

Dutchy understood what Angel was telling him. Angel didn't leave because he was content where he was, even if it was in the shit-holes of the Refuge. Still, something seemed a little off. No matter how content one was with their life, they still always wanted to strive for something more. So, why didn't Angel try?

"Why not?" Dutchy wondered, with a slight shrug of his shoulder. "There's a whole 'nother world outside these walls."

Angel scoffed inwardly. His gaze met Dutchy's, but he said nothing in reply. The blonde studied him intently, trying to figure the young man out. Then, something came to him - it was something so simple, though Dutchy might never have realized it before. It suddenly made sense to him - Angel's often pale appearance, his lifestyle. Dutchy stood, his eyebrows raised in slight astonishment at his realization.

"You've never been outside these walls, have you?" the newsie asked.

Angel turned around half-way and tossed the broken trinket in his hands back onto the small pile of junk in the corner. He pushed the fallen pieces of his tattered treasures back up against the wall neatly. He brushed off his hands on his pants before standing fully erect again. He felt Dutchy's intent gaze on him still, but what could he really tell him? The God-honest truth? No, he decided. He couldn't. It was all his burden, and no one else's. He crossed his arms over his chest as he turned around to face the other young man.

"That's the silliest thing I's ever heard," Angel replied, matter-of-factly.

Suddenly, Dutchy felt disappointed for some strange reason. Had he been wrong about something he was sure was true? Angel had him spinning even more than before now. More questions formed in the newsie's mind because of it. He didn't understand Angel at all.

"All right, all right, I guess you's right," Dutchy replied, thoughtfully rubbing one hand over his face.

Angel sneezed into his sleeve, then cleared his throat. He sniffled and glanced over at Dutchy.

"We better get yous back before mornin'," he noted, and nodded towards the part of the area Dutchy had just occupied. "Take that blanket over there with you; it gets cold in dat room sometimes."

"Oh...ok..." Dutchy replied, with an arched brow.

He scratched the back of his head with his hand and turned around to bend down and retrieve the old, slightly worn blanket off the ground. As he turned around again, the newsie noted the way Angel was leaned up against the wall when he stood. The dark-haired rested a hand on the wall, and covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his shirt again as he coughed. Dutchy walked over to him and upon seeing the newsie approaching, Angel quickly straightened himself up.

"You all right?" The newsie asked.

Angel smiled faintly.

"I's fine," he replied. "Come on, I'll show you the way back. Follow me."

Once the two made it back through the tunnel, Angel used all his strength to push the bed above out of the way. He shifted to the side to all Dutchy to squeeze past him. The blonde climbed through the opening, and Angel passed him the blanket. The blonde tossed it onto the bed, before pulling himself up out of the opening in the floor. He leaned down next to the bed and glanced down into the blackness.

"Angel?" he wondered, quietly.

The dim light of the lantern in the older boy's hand gave off enough light to show Angel's face again. Dutchy wasn't quite sure what he had wanted to say to his friend now. Finally, he said: "Thanks."

Angel smiled faintly.

"No worries," the young man answered.

"You'll be around, won't you?" Dutchy wondered.

"I'm always around," Angel replied, with another faint smile.

Dutchy waited until the other boy disappeared back under the floor again. He adjusted the broken floorboards and moved back the bed. Sighly deeply, Dutchy tried to find a comfortable position on the poor-looking bed and wrapped himself up in the blanket. Dutchy stayed awake a short while longer, just wondering. Finally, sleep found him.

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Sorry, this chapter was kind of poor...hope you didn't hate it too much.


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